Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/866086.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      JoJo_no_Kimyouna_Bouken_|_JoJo's_Bizarre_Adventure
  Relationship:
      Giorno_Giovanna/Leone_Abbachio
  Character:
      Giorno_Giovanna, Leone_Abbachio, Fugo_Pannacotta
  Additional Tags:
      NSFW, vampire
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-02 Words: 4835
****** Do Ya Wanna Touch Me ******
by angrypuppy
Summary
     I'll level: this fic is pointless pr0n. I believe this is set after
     the Pompeii incident. Abbachio gets to know Giorno a little bit
     better, with hints of Giorno's bloodline. My friend requested vampire
     GioGio fic (this is not really a vampire fic, but it's the closest
     you'll catch me getting... there's some blood). Embarrassing to me.
     Written as a gift for Youko Fujima back in the day, and she drew some
     really lovely pr0ny illustrations at the time which have vanished
     into the ether of the internets, and I will never write another like
     this again aaaah I feel so dirty.
Notes
     Titled after the Gary Glitter song, since Joker-sama picked it for
     Giorno on her FST and he's certainly a little manskank in this. I
     spelled Abbacha's name with 2 Cs for some reason I don't recall
     anymore, since I wrote this a long time ago. I guess that was how we
     were spelling it then. Why is Fugo in this? WHY NOT. Anyway, THIS IS
     A PWP. It is strangely long for the genre because the whole first
     half was my brain refusing to write pr0n and trying to lengthen the
     setup FOR NO REASON, but it is a PWP nonetheless!! Eventually I
     forced my brain into writing the, uh, main scene (thanks to the
     inspiring standcest-drawing efforts of the adorable and awesome
     Nangke) so um. Yeah. Enjoy?!
"Abbacchio!" Fugo, having ascertained that Giorno wasn't going to die from his
exposure to Purple Haze, knelt next to his fallen teammate.
He'd left Giorno behind in the plaza, still helplessly writhing on the ground
in an unfortunately mesmerizing manner as Gold Experience painfully bulldozed
antivenom through the boy's veins; hopefully there were no more enemy stand
users in Pompeii.
"Fugo..." Abbacchio panted in agony. "My... hand... where is it?"
"Forget about that! Look at your fucking ARM! How the fuck did that happen?!"
Fugo pressed his fingers thoughtfully to his forehead while he tried to figure
out what sort of first aid he could administer, especially since his makeshift
kit was half an hour away in the car.
"Cut it off... so I could send that damn kid the key... with my stand's
hand..."
Fugo had known Giorno had somehow got hold of the key from Abbacchio, and he'd
even seen Giorno getting the key from Moody Blues' detached hand... but in the
excitement of the battle, he somehow hadn't realized Abbacchio had CUT OFF HIS
OWN HAND to accomplish this.
"You are some kinda crazy," Fugo said admiringly, as he stood up and took off
his slim black belt. His swiss-cheese trousers immediately sagged dangerously
low around his bony hips; he didn't wear the belt just for fashion.
Abbacchio's eyes widened. "Why... are you taking off... your belt?"
"Relax, big guy, it's just a tourniquet." Fugo knelt next to Abbacchio again
and pulled Abbacchio's empty sleeve over the stump, then looped the belt around
Abbacchio's wrist; then he stood up, put his foot on the loop to hold it in
place, and pulled as hard as he could to tighten it. Abbacchio moaned in pain.
"Sorry," Fugo grunted, as he yanked the belt tighter and then pulled out his
pocket knife and poked a new hole in it. "It's better than bleeding to death!"
After securing the makeshift tourniquet, Fugo looked around the area and
spotted the severed hand lying several feet away; a smeared trail of blood
indicated that Abbacchio had been trying to pull himself towards the battle in
the plaza before becoming too weak. Fugo shook his head and picked up the hand.
He wasn't sure what to do with it, so he jammed it into his pants pocket
fingers-side down to worry about later.
Somehow he managed to pull the woozy Abbacchio to his feet; they slowly made
their way back to Giorno, although by the time they reached the plaza, Fugo
found himself basically carrying Abbacchio over his back.
Giorno was sitting against the wall, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He looked
more or less normal, and Fugo marveled at how fast the boy healed. One sign of
a powerful stand user...
A snake at Giorno's feet shifted uneasily as they approached, and Giorno opened
his eyes. The snake shimmered golden for a moment before turning back into a
chunk of the wall, and Giorno got to his feet, absently brushing dust from the
seat of his pants.
"Is he all right?" Giorno asked, peering at Abbacchio.
"Of course he isn't," Fugo said. "He lopped off his hand! And he lost a lot of
blood..."
"I feel... shitty..." Abbacchio panted. "Let's... get back to Buccellati..."
Giorno and Fugo both nodded; while they had no idea what, exactly, Bruno could
do about this, it was obvious that he'd do SOMETHING. After all, it was
Buccellati! Besides, they had retrieved the key; it was stupid to stay away
from their friends any longer.
Giorno helped Fugo drag Abbacchio back to the car; once they got there, Giorno
called Bruno on his cell phone (which he'd left in the car) and Fugo pulled out
the small duffel bag that passed as their first aid kit and pondered what to
do.
"Buccellati wants us to come straight back, and he said he'll take care of
Abbacchio," Giorno reported. "He said to take back roads if we could to avoid
more fights on the way..."
"Sounds good," said Fugo. "We'll get going as soon as I fix him up, then."
Fugo soaked a clean handkerchief from the kit in the remains of Abbacchio's
bottled water from earlier. Then he then pulled the hand out of his pocket,
wrapped it up, and put it in a zip-lock bag, which he handed to Giorno. He
riffled through the bag and produced a roll of white bandages and a roll of
duct tape; he unwrapped Abbacchio's arm, rinsed the wound with the remains of
the water, and then proceeded to used the bandages and duct tape to wrap it all
up again.
Abbacchio blacked out halfway through this process, although he'd woken up
again by the time it was over. They managed to cram him into the car and ended
up going back with Giorno driving and Fugo and Abbacchio in the back seat. Fugo
had wedged himself into the driver's side corner of the seat, Abbacchio cradled
in his arms; Fugo had taken it on himself to keep Abbacchio's arm elevated
(with as little effort possible), so Abbacchio was sleeping fitfully against
his chest and Fugo had belted their arms together and propped his elbow up on
the seat. Fugo himself was having trouble staying awake; as soon as he'd rested
for a moment, all the aches and pains of the battle they'd just gone through
had made themselves known. He felt itchy from the dried blood and the day's
heat, and miserable from his bruises and scrapes; he couldn't wait to get back
and take a shower.
The heat...
"Giorno, stop at the first gas station or convenience store you see," Fugo
said. "We need some ice and cold water, or Abbacchio's hand might not make it
through this trip."
"All right, but it might be a while... we're on a back highway."
Twenty or thirty minutes later, the car came to a halt. Fugo came out of a hazy
drowse when he felt the car stop, glanced out, and did a double take when he
checked out the store's front window and saw a line of... dildos. A cheery-
looking skeleton grinned at him from above the sex toys, a leather bustier
strapped around its ribcage and studded strap-on belts around its pelvis,
including a long, bright pink vibrator cocked at a jaunty angle.
"... Giorno, these aren't really the conveniences I meant," Fugo said.
"It's also a gas station," Giorno said defensively. "Look, we're taking the
back roads so I can speed more and to avoid people, so there's not a lot of
stuff out here... this is the first store I saw."
Fugo looked out the rear window. It WAS a gas station. The large sign over the
pumps read: Piotr's Gas & Ass. They were in a rather questionable area,
apparently. He looked around, but it was just a commercial area along the
highway, and the few other stores in the area were all either closed or seemed
even less likely to sell what they needed. The strip club next door certainly
seemed to have less potential. He sighed.
"Fine, just get in there and get some ice."
Giorno returned ten minutes later with a sack of ice, a gallon jug full of cold
water, and several clean cloths.
"Wow," said Fugo. "I'm surprised they had this kind of stuff..."
"They didn't," Giorno said, watching Fugo wrap Abbacchio's hand in wet, cold
cloth before sticking it back in the zip-lock bag and tucking that into the
ice. "Except the ice... which was free. But the guy in there was really nice
when I asked if they had any water... I explained that my friend in the car had
hurt himself really bad and he got all this stuff for me from the back."
"Oh... well, that was nice of him."
The rest of the drive was uneventful and as short as Giorno could make it,
although the car they had rented was not exactly designed for zippy travelling.
Abbacchio recovered somewhat after resting for the length of the drive, and
once at the grape farm, he was able to walk in under his own power, his
partners trailing behind with the sack containing the (now mostly-water) ice
and hand.
Inside, everyone was waiting in the living room.
"Wow, you really did lose your hand!" Narancia said, bouncing up from his seat
on the sofa.
"Yes," Abbacchio snapped, crossing the room and sinking into a chair. "Try it
sometime! It's fun!"
"He didn't lose it," Fugo said, holding up the sack. "We still have it! It's
just not attached to him anymore."
"Can you put it back on?" Narancia said. Bruno came and took the sack.
Fugo shrugged. "Well... sometimes you can reattach lost limbs... we'll see."
"What if it can't be reattached?"
"Well, then we'll get Abbacchio a hook!" Fugo grinned.
"Do you think this is funny?" Abbacchio groused, waving his stump at Fugo in
irritation. Fugo started laughing.
"Step back, Narancia." Bruno was holding the unwrapped hand. "I think he'll be
fine... Fugo, take that bandage off, would you? And Giorno, could you go get
some hot water and towels and things?"
A few minutes later, everyone had assembled to watch Bruno zip Abbacchio's hand
back on. Abbacchio's arm was lying on a table, Bruno holding the hand in place
and staring at the wound grimly while his stand worked. Abbacchio, always pale,
had gone a strange greenish-white with pain and nausea as Bruno, a look of deep
concentration on his face, tried to zip things back together.
"Why does it take so long?" Narancia whispered to Fugo.
"He's trying to put together all the bones and veins and nerves and such
inside," Fugo whispered back. "They're small and he can't see what he's doing,
so it's probably pretty nerve-wracking..."
"Do you think Abbacchio's hand will work after this?" Giorno asked from Fugo's
other side.
"Well, it's better than any surgery, in terms of the connection... after all, I
think Sticky Fingers has a natural ability to put things together properly, so
it's not like he needs to be a surgeon, and the zipper's not really there, so
it'll heal well... They say you can reconnect a severed limb for a few hours
after the fact, and after all, Abbacchio's a stand user, so he'll heal fast...
I guess we'll see in a few days?"
Bruno finished a few minutes later with a final big zipper around Abbacchio's
wrist and sat back with a sigh, looking drained. Abbacchio, who'd been trying
to take deep breaths and hold still, finally relaxed and shuddered in a massive
full-body twitch, then let his head drop on the table with a thunk.
Bruno wiped the blood off his hands with a damp towel. "Abbacchio, I've gotta
tell the boss that we got the key and find out what our next orders are... but
I don't really want to go anywhere with you and Fugo in bad shape. The enemies
are only getting more and more difficult to deal with. My orders for both of
you are to go to bed and rest until further notice... especially you,
Abbacchio. We may have to move as soon as tomorrow. If I see either of you
outside of your beds, I will kick your ass... understand?"
"What if we have to go to the bathroom?" Fugo asked.
Bruno gave him a narrow look. "Within reason, of course. Don't be silly. Now
get your asses to bed. Giorno, Narancia, help Abbacchio upstairs. Mista, could
you bring me the laptop? Thanks."
                                   * * * * *
When Abbacchio woke up, it was dark; he vaguely recalled that his arm had hurt
so badly that he'd felt like throwing up, and that Giorno and Narancia had more
or less carried him up the stairs and let him fall on the bed.
He flexed his wrist slowly, carefully, and winced when a lance of pain shot
through his hand and forearm; still, it didn't hurt anywhere near the way it
had before, and he was pleased to notice that he could move his fingers a bit,
though they felt numb and completely dead at the tips, and pain flashed through
his wrist with every tiny motion. Still, it hadn't even been a day; he felt
confident that Buccellati had done it right. The fact that he could already
move his fingers was proof of that.
He lifted his hand to look at his wrist in the moonlight that was shining
through the window; the zipper around his wrist glittered silver in the
darkness. He twisted his wrist experimentally a few times, ignoring the pain;
it seemed functional. Sticky Fingers was certainly amazing; he'd really thought
his hand might be gone for good.
Something dark was seeping slowly from the zipper on the underside of his
wrist... he put his other hand up to touch it and felt the slippery warmth of
blood. Oops. Maybe testing it already hadn't been the best idea, although the
zippers still felt secure...
"Stop moving your hand around," said someone, and Abbacchio jerked upright in
shock and the sheet over him fell down... Around then, he noticed he wasn't
wearing anything.
The bedside lamp flicked on, the low-wattage bulb casting a dim orange glow
over the bed and leaving the back of the room in shadow. Giorno was standing by
the light switch, hair glimmering dark gold in the lamplight.
"Buccellati told me to make sure you didn't start messing around with it, or
trying to unzip it or something... he said it was a lot of work."
"I wasn't going to unzip it -- do you think I'm an idiot?" Abbacchio responded,
annoyed. "What are you doing here?"
"I've been here all this time," Giorno said. He stepped over to a chair at the
foot of the bed and sat down. "Buccellati told me to make sure you seemed to be
recovering okay and to get you food and stuff when you woke up."
"Actually, I feel fine," Abbacchio said. "I mean, my arm still hurts and all,
but other than that, I feel normal."
"He said you lost a lot of blood and we'd want to make sure you'd recovered..."
"I'm recovered as much as I'm gonna be," Abbacchio said. He swung his legs off
the bed, the sheet still over his midsection, then paused. They'd even removed
his underwear. "Why am I naked? Where are my pants? And where's Buccellati?"
"Well, we figured you wouldn't want to be all covered in blood and sweat when
you woke up, so Narancia and I cleaned you off," Giorno said. "Your pants are
right over there, and Buccellati's in bed. He also told me to tell you that
he's sleeping next door and it's harder for him to monitor his stand when he's
asleep, so you better stay within his range or your hand might drop off."
"What?" Abbacchio blinked and looked down at his bleeding wrist a bit
uncertainly. "Well... can I at least go to the bathroom?"
"Be my guest, if you're not worried that it's down the hall," Giorno said.
Abbacchio judged that putting his tight trousers on with only one hand would be
a pain in the ass and got out of bed, resigned to going naked. He glared at
Giorno as he walked past; who was this boy to be telling him what to do?
He stumbled once crossing the dark hallway; he still felt a little light-
headed. Maybe he did need more sleep... his stomach growled, and he revised
that. Maybe he just needed food. He hadn't eaten anything since the previous
night.
When washing his hands, he noticed in the brightness of the bathroom light that
his wrist was bleeding a lot more than before... probably because the bathroom
was further from Bruno than his bedroom. He swore and wiped it the blood off
with some toilet paper before retreating to his room, where Giorno was still
sitting in the chair. Abbacchio crawled back into bed and pulled the sheet up
over himself... he wasn't normally given to shyness, but something about the
way Giorno eyed him when he came back in made him a little nervous.
"You're bleeding," Giorno said, his voice oddly strained.
"Yeah, I noticed." Abbacchio lifted his wrist; the blood was back to an
acceptable slow seep, but his arm was still covered in it. "Go get me something
to wipe this off with. And something to eat, I'm starving..."
Giorno returned with a damp towel and a bowl of thick minestrone soup a few
minutes later. He brought them over to the side of the bed, paused, and then
handed Abbacchio the soup to hold and took Abbacchio's wounded hand in one of
his without a word, swabbing the blood off with the towel. Abbacchio wondered
if it was just his imagination, or if Giorno's green eyes briefly glinted
garnet red... probably just a trick of the light.
"That's okay, I can do it," Abbacchio said, looking for somewhere to set the
soup down. "I don't need your help."
"And were you planning eat the soup with one hand?" Giorno asked.
"I'll just drink it out of the bowl," Abbacchio said, demonstrating.
He'd got about halfway through the soup when Giorno's elbow bumped the bowl,
spilling soup all over Abbacchio's bare torso. It was not HOT, but Giorno had
warmed it before bringing it up, and it wasn't exactly pleasant to have all
over oneself either.
"... Sorry," said Giorno. He didn't sound particularly sorry, and Abbacchio
ground his teeth.
"Just clean it up, would you?" Abbacchio handed Giorno the mostly-empty bowl
and sat back against his pillow in annoyance, trying to keep the mess centered
on his stomach. Giorno set the bowl on the floor and started wiping the soup
off Abbacchio's stomach with the towel; as he leaned over to wipe on the far
side of Abbacchio's ribcage, something small fell out of his pocket onto
Abbacchio.
"Hey, Giorno," said Abbacchio, reaching under the boy to pick it up with his
good hand, "You dropped your... er..." He blinked a few times at the label on
the small plastic pouch. "Your... uh... cherry flavored lube."
Giorno took it from him without saying anything; was the boy blushing in the
dim light? It was hard to tell.
"Why do you have that?" Abbacchio said, curiosity getting the better of him.
Also, he was trying to ignore the flutters in his stomach; Giorno was swabbing
a bit lower with the towel. Abbacchio firmly tried to shift mental gears, but
the side of Giorno's head was right in front of his face and he'd suddenly
noticed that Giorno smelled really good, and it was difficult to stop noticing
something like that. Damn kid. Why did he have to smell so good?!
"When I went into that store to get the ice, the guy was so nice and helpful
that I felt like I had to buy something from him," Giorno said. "So I grabbed
some of those since they were small and right up at the front..."
"What were you planning on doing with it?"
"I dunno... I guess I thought I'd find something to use it for."
Abbacchio was immediately sorry he'd asked, because rather than distracting
him, all that came to mind was a disturbingly hot mental image of lonely Giorno
finding something to use it for... He realized with alarm that he was getting
aroused, and Giorno was still wiping up down by his crotch... he shifted
uncomfortably and tried to pull the sheet up, but it was too late; Giorno had
paused and it was obvious he'd seen his teammate's erection.
"Do you need a hand with anything else?" Giorno said, turning to flash a brief
grin at Abbacchio. Abbacchio was startled, both because the sight of Giorno
smiling was strange and because almost positive he hadn't imagined that flash
of red in Giorno's eyes this time, when the lamplight had hit them at a certain
angle... Not to mention the boy didn't exactly look friendly. More... hungry.
"No thanks!" He couldn't believe how embarrassed this kid was making him
feel... but then, normally he wasn't naked in bed when people hit on him. He
pushed Giorno away with the closest hand, which was unfortunately the injured
one, and he winced as a spike of pain went through his whole forearm. Blood
dribbled down from the zipper, a bit more than before; unless Bruno had just
rolled over in his sleep, he must have pulled something loose. He swore and
yanked his hand away, leaving a smear of crimson on Giorno's bare chest, where
the heart-shaped gap in Giorno's jacket exposed what Abbacchio had not
previously noticed but was starting to think was an indecent amount of skin.
Giorno stared down at the blood and then looked up at Abbacchio.
"Are you sure?" he said, and slid his hand down under the sheet.
Abbacchio stared at him in shock. "Get away!" he yelped, but although he put
his (uninjured) hand to Giorno's shoulder, intending to shove the little punk
away, he couldn't actually bring himself to do it.
"I'm supposed to help you with anything it might be hard to do with your hand
hurt," Giorno said softly into Abbacchio's ear... Abbacchio shivered, feeling
Giorno's breath stirring his hair.
"I really do not need help. Get off me. Now."
"Why don't you like me?" Giorno ignored Abbacchio's ineffective hand on his
shoulder and crawled up onto the bed, straddling his teammate, his lips against
Abbacchio's throat, his hand still busy beneath the sheet. It felt too good
after the stress of the day, and Abbacchio gripped Giorno's shoulder
helplessly, now no longer sure if he wanted to pull Giorno closer or fling him
across the room...
"S-stop..." Abbacchio gasped out, and Giorno finally pulled his hand away,
slowly, but he simply ran it over Abbacchio's abdomen, his light touch making
Abbacchio's need even worse.
"Really, I want to know why you don't like me," Giorno whispered, as his mouth
slid down Abbacchio's collarbone. He settled his pelvis against Abbacchio's,
and Abbacchio could feel the teen's hard penis through the sheet, Giorno's slim
body pressed up against his...
He swallowed and tried one more time to push Giorno away. "I don't like you
because you're new and annoying," he said. "Don't take it personally."
"I keep trying to prove I'm useful," Giorno said, his lips moving against
Abbacchio's chest. "At least admit I'm handy in a fight."
"You're..." Abbacchio's breath caught when Giorno's hand moved south again.
"You're useful, okay, I admit it, so there's no... need... for... stop..."
Giorno slid his arm in between them and took a firm grip on Abbacchio's
manhood; he rubbed the head slowly, his thumb sliding easily over sensitive
skin that was wet with excitement.
"I'm not doing this to make you like me," Giorno mumbled, his lips busy on
Abbacchio's neck; then he lifted his head and kissed his teammate, his tongue
sliding like wet velvet along Abbacchio's lower lip. His eyes met Abbacchio's,
and Abbacchio couldn't tell in the shadows what color they were. "I just felt
like it." That grin again, unusual and maddening, and Abbacchio shivered
because he wanted Giorno so badly all of a sudden.
He gave up any resistance and let Giorno make his way south, his hot mouth
drifting down Abbacchio's torso as he wriggled backwards; he jammed a knee
between Abbacchio's legs and separated them, and his mouth was hot and wet, his
tongue all kinds of fulfilling...
After a few moments of this, and having determined that he couldn't take it
much longer, Abbacchio grabbed Giorno by the jacket with his good hand, hauling
the boy up to kiss him. He slid his hand through Giorno's soft hair, pulling
out the tie that kept it in a braid, and when they broke apart, he unzipped
Giorno's jacket and slid his hand inside, then slowly started peeling it off;
Giorno helped him enthusiastically.
He's beautiful, Abbacchio thought when he'd got Giorno undressed and had pinned
the boy down for a taste of his own teasing medicine. He didn't think it in a
jealous or possessive way... it was simply something that was true: that golden
hair, that classic face and lean, sculpted body that didn't look their age...
and that striking pale birthmark on Giorno's shoulder, where it met the back of
his neck, shaped so perfectly like a star that Abbacchio initially mistook it
for a tattoo...
He didn't resist when Giorno pushed him off and shoved him up against the
headboard and straddled him, or when Giorno coated them both with the (rather
strongly-scented) cherry lube, or when Giorno sank down on top of him; he knew
he'd probably regret it all later (maybe), but every time he met Giorno's eyes,
he felt almost as if a magnet held him ever more tightly in its warm, dark,
intangible grip, and he knew at that particular moment his body would do
anything Giorno wanted. He almost felt he should be afraid... but it didn't
seem to matter then, at all.
When the boy arched backwards in ecstasy, Abbacchio reached out to steady him
with his injured arm, and he barely felt the pain when he clumsily grabbed at
Giorno's back and pulled the boy back down onto him... his good hand slid
roughly over Giorno's penis over and over until the boy came almost silently
with a broken, shaky sigh, and it wasn't until after his own release that he
noticed blood was smeared all over both of them, everywhere he'd groped at
Giorno, all over the bed...
He examined his arm fearfully, then, but strangely, it actually hurt less than
before, and his fingers seemed to move more easily... He wondered absently if
it was some strange side effect of Giorno's company, or simply the natural
healing of a stand user, but it didn't really matter.
Giorno was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his trousers back on. He
stood up and cracked his neck, then turned back to Abbacchio, who was still
eyeing his arm thoughtfully and also trying to decide how to explain the blood
all over the sheets to Bruno.
"So... does this mean you like me now?" Giorno said, pulling his hair back into
a loose ponytail. His brief smile this time was crooked, and his eyes were the
deepest green Abbacchio had ever seen, and totally unlike those of the boy he'd
just been molested by... some difference had come over Giorno in the last few
minutes, and Abbacchio had the sudden impression that this Giorno cared what
the answer was, no matter how casually the question was framed.
A flash of memory, a conversation he'd once had with Bruno; Bruno had been
joking about how The Family was his only family, but Bruno's wry smile when he
said it made his friend realize that it might not be entirely a joke. Another
flash, Narancia's dark eyes and how he was always tagging along behind them
like he was afraid to be left alone for a few hours. When the people you worked
with were all you had, and you wanted someone to give a shit about you...
"If you're going to take a shower, bring me back some clean towels to get all
this blood off with," Abbacchio said, looking away from those terribly green
eyes.
"So you still hate me, then?"
Abbacchio, still uncertain of just what sort of madness had come over them
both, rubbed his hand over his face and sighed.
"... I don't hate you," he said, finally. "I have to get used to people, okay?
Stop harassing me, it's irritating."
"Sorry." Giorno still didn't sound particularly sorry, but Abbacchio didn't
feel as annoyed by it now, somehow. "I'm gonna go take that shower, then."
Giorno turned around and marched out of the room, and Abbacchio regretted not
asking for some clean sheets, also. He sank back against his pillow and
realized he was exhausted; the kid had really taken it out of him.
When Giorno got back, clean and steaming from his shower, with an armful of
towels and a bucket of hot water, he found his teammate deeply asleep, but with
a much more peaceful expression than he'd had that afternoon. Abbacchio didn't
wake up, even when Giorno flipped him over to wipe his back clean. Not even
when Giorno pressed his lips to Abbacchio's forehead, and whispered in his ear,
"I'm glad you don't hate me."
When morning came, Bruno stopped by to check on Abbacchio's wrist.
He was slightly horrified by the state of the sheets.
THE END
________________________________________________________________
 
Sorry about the ending; I couldn't think of anything and just kept writing and
writing and then I was like "this sucks, the fic IS OVER ALREADY" so I deleted
all that stuff (several paragraphs!) and just left this as the last sentence...
I know it's abrupt so uh, yeah. @_@ Argh =///=
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!